


Coughing and Miserable and In Love

by jqueen17



Category: Phan
Genre: Birthday, Fluff, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6449761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jqueen17/pseuds/jqueen17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Leave it to Dan to get sick on his twenty-fifth birthday. Despite his low expectations, his birthday turns out differently than even his wondering mind had planned.</p><p>Description: A phan drabble fic, mostly just a fun write that I hope you all will enjoy:)</p><p>Warnings: Some language, lots of fluff</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coughing and Miserable and In Love

**Author's Note:**

> The most-voted choice on my poll; to all of you who voted for this one, here you go! Please enjoy and let me know if you like this style of fic from me, please!:)

Being sick on your birthday absolutely sucks. Yeah, yeah, I know, things could be worse or the world could be ending or I could be hit by a falling piano, blah blah blah. No offense, but please let me suffer in peace for this short while.

I was supposed to go up to see my parents tomorrow, but of course I wasn't going anywhere. I'd barely left the bloody couch all weekend. Simply standing made me dizzier than usual (being a freaking giant didn't help with the head rush I got standing up on a normal day), I was burning up with a fever and my throat was so dry it was ridiculous, but I was too lazy to go get a bottle of water from the kitchen. 

I had the flu.

The video editing portion of my brain mocked me, and I was thinking what a perfect time this would be to key dramatic music when I heard Phil's door open and shut down the hall. I didn't even pretend to be asleep, staring blankly at the dark TV and feeling Phil's eyes on my face.

"Uh, Dan? Are you okay?"

I clicked my eyes to him, staring at his still form to soothe the dizziness and nausea that overtook me from simply moving my head a fraction of a centimeter.

"No."

A small smile twitched on Phil's lips, and I knew I probably sounded over-dramatic as always. But that didn't stop Phil from walking over and kneeling beside the sofa, placing his blessedly cool hand on my inflamed forehead. I swore I could hear it sizzle.

"Oh, Dan," Phil said softly, moving his hand down to my cheek, which was even hotter. "I'm so sorry."

The concern in his voice gave me the strength to give the smallest smile, and I could tell that it meant a lot to him. Phil cared a lot about small gestures of affection, like smiles and banter and peaceful silences. I may have been the overly dramatic one, but Phil was the bigger sap out of the two of us.

"I'll be right back, okay?"

I nodded, sending my head into a flurry of static pain and random bursts of heat. It felt like my brain was on fire, and I was having trouble breathing through my stuffed up nose. I hadn't even smelled the tea Phil had made, and was pleasantly surprised as he set two mugs on the coffee table.

"You didn't have to do that," I said, my voice not even sounding like it belonged to me. Phil shook his head, studying me for a moment.

"Here, sit up for a sec."

I did as he said without opening my eyes, weak and dizzy, and felt Phil's hands push me gently back onto a pillow sat in his lap.

"What're you doing?" I mumbled, Phil simply clicking through channels with the TV on mute. He looked down at me, his eyes sparkling.

"I'm not leaving you alone, sick, on your birthday."

I chuckled despite my headache, loving Phil's randomness and sincerity. "You're a spork."

He shrugged, grinning, accepting the title proudly. I stared at him while he stared at the show flickering on the screen, wondering how we'd been best friends for this long and wondering why, in all that time, I'd never told him I loved him. Because of course I did. You couldn't not love Phil Lester. He was just the human embodiment of sunshine and happiness and affection. It was hard not to stare; he was radiant.

After time had passed for a while (I couldn't tell you how long, I was barely coherent as it was), Phil's fingers began threading their way through my hair, snagging curls and tangles since I had taken a shower earlier that day. For the first time in over twenty-four hours I wondered what I looked like, and immediately cringed away from the thought. I probably didn't want to know.

I was on the cusp of sleep when Phil spoke, his voice so soft and sweet my heart squeezed, knowing this was my best friend in the whole world and he only cared about me right now. Me, Dan Howell, who was a living, breathing meme and whose life was a mess almost constantly.

"You can sleep now, silly. Stop fighting it; I'll be right here."

"You won' leave?" I mumbled, struggling to hear his response. His voice registered for about .4 seconds before I was out, his fingers still in my hobbit mess of curls.

"I'm not going anywhere."

***

I was surprisingly comfortable when I woke up, despite the weariness plaguing my body. It took me a few moments to realize the cause was Phil, his arms wrapped around me, my head on his chest. I could feel his breath rustling the hair on the top of my head, his heartbeat slow and steady and soothing. It calmed my nerves, nerves stemming from the fact that Phil and I hadn't slept in the same place as each other for so long it was ridiculous. I made a promise to myself to make sure it happened more often.

My thoughts must have caused my body to inevitably tense up, because Phil woke up within a matter of minutes, his voice husky with sleep.

"Happy Birthday, sleepy head."

I smirked, elbowing his side a little and causing him to squirm underneath me. Phil was the single most ticklish person I had ever met, despite the fact that he was a 6'3", nearly-thirty-year-old man.

"Do you want breakfast?"

I sort of did, but I was worried about my nausea, which Phil must have sensed. We knew each other so well by now, it wasn't a surprise.

"I'll make you breakfast for your birthday-you don't have to eat if you're not feeling up to it."

All I could manage was a small, "thanks, Phil."

He grinned before sliding off the sofa and walking into the kitchen, and I sighed, wondering what I ever did to deserve someone as amazing as Phil Lester. No one deserved him; he was too good, too pure, for anyone.

Which led me to thinking; would he think that I didn't deserve him? I certainly didn't think so, but if I ever told him how his smile made my knees weak, how I fell in love with him so hard I had never stopped, would he feel the same? Probably not, honestly; I wasn't someone people felt that way for.  
I mean, my fans and friends and family loved me and all, but there's always someone BETTER. Someone funnier or smarter or nicer or cuter. A good description of myself in general was slightly better than average. I wasn't boring, but I wasn't hysterical. I wasn't dumb, but I wasn't a genius. I wasn't mean, but I was sarcastic almost constantly. And I wasn't ugly, I was just... Dan. Boring, average Daniel James Howell.  
If I wasn't so sick and crappy feeling I'd probably be having an existential crisis right about now, but I was too tired to really contemplate dying uninterestingly. Plus, Phil had just walked back in with two plates piled high with his famous pancakes, so I wasn't complaining.

"Happy birthday to yoooouuu..."

He sang the birthday song to me the whole time he was situating himself, his voice quiet and singsong-y, so it actually wasn't unpleasant. When he'd finished, he surprised me by wrapping his arms around me and hugging me to his chest, my face buried in his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry you feel bad on your birthday, bear."

I blushed at the years-old nickname, murmuring against his shoulder, "it's better that you're here with me."

I felt him grin, and then the moment was over. He handed me the smaller plate of pancakes, which I took despite my lack of appetite, and hesitantly cut a small bite out of the overly-fluffy, America-esque pancake. It was really good, super sweet with syrup and still warm. I could feel Phil sneaking glances at my face, so I made myself eat more. I cursed whatever I caught this damn bug from, because there were few things I loved more in this world than food.

"Dan."

I glanced at Phil, who was worriedly studying my face.

"You're really pale. You don't have to eat them if they make you feel bad; I'll make some more when you're better. Okay?"

I nodded, because of course he was right. He took the plate from me gently, and I could faintly hear sounds of him cleaning up from the kitchen. At least my headache had faded somewhat.

It took Phil a while to return, and when he did, he had his arms behind his back and a goofy smile on his face.

"Phil, you didn't-" I started, but he interrupted me easily.

"Yes I did, you spork. Twenty-five is an important age."

I shot him a grumpy look, which he simply grinned even broader at. I scooted over so he could sit, and he dropped the pile of gold-and-silver-wrapped presents on my lap. There were four, a small envelope and a small box, one medium box, and one large bag.

"Open the big one first."

I sighed, doing as he said because there was no point in arguing. ESPECIALLY when it came to birthday festivities. The wrapping paper was black, which made me smile, and the first item I pulled out was a pair of black jeans with zippers on the pockets. I couldn't help smiling, because it was so ME, and Phil was excitedly fidgeting beside me, urging me to keep going. The next item was a black T-shirt, which had 'kawaii & namaiki' scrawled across it in shimmering pink and gold letters.

"What does namaiki mean?" I asked, loving the shirt already because Asian stuff fit my aesthetic perfectly.

"Sassy."

I shot Phil another look, but I was smiling. How well he knew me.  
The last item was another shirt, but this one was in a fancy clothing box and felt expensive even before I saw it. When I did hold it up for inspection, I gasped, because the shirt was, for lack of a better way to put it, fucking awesome.

"Phil, you shouldn't have bought-"

"Do you like it?"

He sounded so unsure that I couldn't help but smile, which made his face light up and made me sigh. No way would he return it now.  
The shirt was primarily black and white, with patterns stitched all over it in varying designs and directions. But what made it so great was the detail, the gold and silver and red that was only noticeable when you moved it even a fraction of a centimeter, glimmering like it had facets like a diamond.

"Phil, I love it. It's beautiful."

His face like the sun, Phil nodded, looking as if it were his birthday and not mine. He loved giving people presents, especially when they loved them.

"It has some color, I know, but you look really good in red and it just screamed 'Dan'."

I chuckled at his excitement, and he handed me the medium sized box next. Inside was a framed collage of every Muse album, with hundreds of small lyrics scrawled across the pictures. I could have looked at it forever, but there was something odd...

"Phil, is that your handwriting?"

He nodded, looking down sheepishly at his lap. I gaped at him, because the best we'd ever done at crafts were the square flakes.

"I fucking love it. Thank you."

He looked up, giggling before covering it up by handing me the small box. "I tried, now open this one!"

I was honestly excited as well at this point, because I never knew how Phil managed to outdo himself every year. The tiny envelope slip inside the box was strangely familiar, and I stared at it for a few moments before it clicked. Nearly ripping the slip in half in my haste to see just what Phil had done, my mouth fell open when I saw the destination on the two small plane tickets.

"JAPAN? Phil, you bought us tickets to Japan?!"

He laughed at my shock and surprise, giving me a one-armed hug and shrugging. "Duncan and Mimei miss us! And besides, Japan is the best."

I hugged him back, laughing and wanting to cry because this was the best birthday present I'd ever gotten in my life. "You spork, I'm going to spend so much money again!"

We laughed again for a few moments, our arms around each other, before Phil handed me the envelope and cleared his throat.

"I'll let you read that by yourself, we need more milk anyways."

I wondered what the change in his tone meant, but nodded anyway, curiosity of what was so important that I needed to be alone to read it getting the best of me. Phil grinned briefly before leaving, but his eyes were nervous and didn't meet mine.

As soon as I heard the flat door click shut behind him, I ran my finger under the envelope's flap, the sound of ripping paper startlingly loud in Phil's absence. There were two pieces of paper inside, folded in threes and written in Phil's slightly messy, looping scrawl.

Dan,  
First off, happy birthday!!! You're so old. Kidding, you still look great.  
I didn't really know how to say this to your face (you know how awkward I am even at my best), so I decided to write it. You can probably hear me saying these things anyway; you know me so well sometimes.  
Well, here goes...  
I love you. I've loved you for so long I can't remember a time when I didn't, and I don't think I really realized how far in love with you I had fallen until this year. It's impossible for me to say I don't love you.  
Our friends have asked if I LIKED you, of course (apparently I'm the approachable one haha), and I just laugh them off. Because 'like' doesn't even begin to cover it. Everyone LIKES you, Dan, believe it or not. I know you think you're trash and not special, but that's bullshit (pardon my language but I actually didn't SAY it so it doesn't count).  
No one is like you. Yeah, yeah, 'relatable' my ass. I have never met anyone as amazing as you, and for your birthday I'm going to show you how amazing you really are, and how much you mean to me.  
First off, you're smart. You're so, so unbelievably intelligent that it's amazing I can keep up sometimes. And let's face it, half the time I can't. And I know you would say something like 'well what about when I lock myself out of the flat twice a week or fall over standing up or forget how to talk on camera because I'm an awkward mess', and to that I would ask you; what about when you talk about the importance of happiness? How about when you find meaning in everything? Or when you can memorize definitions of words when you're bored? You're brilliant, Dan. Your intellect makes you a bazillion gazillion times more amazing, if that's even possible.  
And you're so talented, God, it's unfair. It's a surprise I haven't choked to death laughing when you say something random during breakfast, or when it's three in the morning and you ask me what the hell is up with flamingos. You want to know why you have more followers than me? You're WITTY AS HELL, that's why. People love witty. I love witty, and I love you. Also, your musical talents. My heart hurts every time you play the piano because YOU ARE AMAZING, DAN. I may be AmazingPhil, but you're twice as amazing as I could ever hope to be.  
And while I'm at it, I might as well tell you how attractive you are. At face value and inside, you are beautiful. You're not 'trash', so hush about that silliness. I am so lucky I get to see your adorable dimples and hobbit hair almost twenty-four seven, and you don't even know how it makes me feel to see you really smile. Not friend-smile, or polite-smile, or camera-smile. REALLY smile, when your face lights up and your eyes sparkle and your dimples make craters appear in your cheeks.  
I love that you only smile like that for me.  
So there. I told you. I know this will change things, but I've had this letter saved up for a long time and I don't regret giving it to you. However it changes things.   
I hope it's for the better, though, because I love you, Dan Howell. I hope you love me, and I hope I made your birthday better.

I was crying so hard by the end of the letter that I hadn't heard the door open, or even seen Phil as he stood in the doorway of the lounge. I had my face buried in my knees, which were hugged to my chest, the pages clutched in my hands. Phil's hand on my back didn't startle me, however; I was still sort of out of it, my reflexes slow.

"Dan, are you okay?" he asked, voice soft and gentle. I turned my head to the side, sniffling a little.

"You can't love me that much, Phil. I'm not worth it."

He didn't smile, at least not with his mouth, but his eyes were shiny for some reason. He pulled me onto his lap, my head on his chest and his hands in my hair once again. He whispered against the top of my head, sounding very serious and very firm.

"Daniel James Howell, you are worth the entire universe and more. And of course I love you that much, you doof; there's nothing about you that isn't worth loving."

I didn't hesitate to sit up, pulling him with me this time and pressing my lips to his. I had a fistful of his shirt in one hand, the other pressed flat to his chest, where I could feel his heartbeat. The kiss was slow and deep, Phil's lips cold against my feverish ones, and his hands found their way up to my hair and gently tugged at the back. I could honestly say this was the best kiss I had ever had, in my twenty-five years of existence, and I wasn't even surprised. Of course Phil was good at kissing. He was Phil.

I don't know how much time had passed before we broke apart, the awkwardness somehow dissipating in that unending period of time. Phil was looking at me with such a loving expression that I blushed, because that's what I did, the awkward spork that I was. He ran a thumb over my bottom lip, and I let him stare for as long as he wanted.

He'd been waiting as long as I had.

We ended up laying together on the sofa and watching an anime; nothing had changed. Except the fact that my hand was laced with Phil's, and he was coughing every few moments.

"Dan, if you got me sick..."

I silenced him by pressing a kiss to his chest, and he sighed, hugging me tighter.

"God, I love you. I can't even be mad."

I smirked, knowing he would say that. "Love you too, spork."

So we spent my birthday weekend in bed, coughing and miserable and in love. And it was the best birthday I had ever had.


End file.
